He Didn't Really Hate Him
by george's firework
Summary: Ron's worried about Harry - he's been acting really strangely recently and picking even more fights with Malfoy than usual.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first attempt at slash, so don't judge me too harshly :) For the Fastest Challenge in the History of Challenges challenge at HPFC :)**

"So, Potter! I heard you've been crying into your pillow every night since you got here! Missing Auntie and Uncle Dursley that much are you? And here was me under the strong belief that you didn't actually get on with your family. But then, I guess even the greatest of us can be mistaken. So why the tears, Scarhead? Did Snape give you another detention for breathing? Oh, oh, I know! Was your treacle tart just a little bit burnt? No, wait, that's ridiculous. I know the answer, don't tell me, moronic Weasel finally came to his senses and broke up with you?"

"Piss off, Malfoy. I'm not gay, though I know you wish it, and nor is Ron. I feel sorry for you, at least I have a friend I'm so close with that some people question our sexuality!" Harry snapped, stuffed his textbooks into his bag and hurried out of the courtyard, leaving a jeering Malfoy and his followers behind. He almost knocked Ron over when he finally found him, not actually looking where he was going.

"Hey, Harry! What's wrong?" Ron asked, annoyed and concerned at the same time. Ron was like that.

"Nothing… I need to tal- never mind. I just need to be by myself for a while. I'll see you in class." Harry pushed past him and hurried up the stairs to his dormitory, where he collapsed on his bed and flicked his wand to draw the hangings. A groan escaped his mouth as he closed his eyes.

Malfoy's taunts didn't usually get to him so badly, but this time he'd hit a nerve. It wasn't anything about Snape or the treacle tart, nothing to do with either of those. Harry had lied to Malfoy when he answered. He was lying to everyone, in fact.

Okay, what he had said to Malfoy had only partly been a lie.

Ron wasn't gay, nor were he and Harry romantically involved with each other. Harry didn't feel sorry for Malfoy because he wasn't as close to anyone as he was to Ron, he felt sorry for Malfoy because what he was, and what he felt was just so obvious that Harry wondered how Malfoy hadn't even realised it yet. The fact that Harry was referring to him as Malfoy showed how angry he was about the hold that Malfoy had over him. Usually, Harry called him Draco in his head.

Ron might not have been gay. But about himself? Harry wasn't sure.

* * *

><p>Draco watched Harry storm away and laughed for the sake of showing off in front of his friends.<p>

He didn't really hate Potter, honestly. Anyone who had watched the two grow up together, if that person didn't know well, would have bet that Draco did hate Harry, and that the feeling was mutual. But anyone who had watched the two grow up together and who did know Draco would probably have said something different. That was why Draco hung out with Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe couldn't even tie his own shoelaces without help and Goyle wasn't any better.

Because, honestly, Draco teased Harry so relentlessly in an attempt to hide his real feelings for him. He knew what Harry's feelings were for him – at least he was pretty sure. He had first noticed in their third year, when he had become aware of Harry watching him carefully in a potions class. At first, Draco had thought he was trying to come up with a plan for getting Draco back for his latest insults at Quidditch but then he had realised that the look in Harry's intriguing green eyes wasn't disgust or vengeful – it was curious. Ever since then, Draco had been watching him back and slowly the two had become slightly less showy to each other and slightly more intimate. That's how Draco thought of it anyway.

If Draco were to insult Harry in a corridor, Harry wouldn't react in a loud manner anymore. Draco had been half horrified and half delighted when Harry had muttered a threat in his ear after Draco attempted to trip him a week ago. Draco hadn't taken it entirely as an insult either, it had sounded different coming from Harry than it would have done coming from, well any other male.

Now, Draco didn't insult Harry for the sake of embarrassing him in front of a crowd. He insulted him in a more private setting, always hoping he would get a more personal reaction every time. And usually, Harry delivered.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Hermione?"<p>

"Yes, Ronald?"

"Have you noticed Harry behaving oddly at all recently?"

"In what way?" Hermione glanced up from the hat she was knitting at breakfast and glanced at Harry who was sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table, glaring at the Slytherin table with an expression that seemed to be made up of hatred and an emotion Hermione couldn't identify.

"Well, he seems to be constantly angry, like he's never happy anymore. And he never really seems to talk about Cho either, didn't you notice that? I could have sworn he was head over heels for her. Plus, he seems to be having more and more arguments with Malfoy. I just can't help thinking it's a little odd." Ron spared the knobbly hat a disgusted glance before he glanced at Harry, then at the Slytherin table and then to Hermione.

"Well, he's your best friend. Maybe you should talk to him about it. But maybe not. He said earlier that he wanted to be left alone, so let's just give him some times to think things over. Yes, it is a little odd, but he's under a lot of stress right now so he does have an excuse to act strangely. Just leave him be, for now, Ron."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, what on earth are you doing in the library?" Hermione hissed in surprise when she had managed to see round her massive pile of books and notice she had nearly walked into Ronald. At first she had been cursing herself, it would have been the second time that week she had walked into someone because she couldn't see over her books, but now she was just slightly annoyed at Ronald. Surely he had realised it was her and could have moved out of the way, or maybe even offered to take some books? There weren't a lot (any) of other Hogwarts students who walked around with such a large stack of novels and textbooks.

"Merlin, Hermione, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Ron whispered back, frowning at her. "Hey, I come to the library… with you… when I have homework due the next day and you won't let me not do it…" he trailed off, shuffling his feet and sending her a cutely dorky grin. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"That doesn't explain why you're in here now- is there something wrong with Harry?" Hermione was suddenly panicking, Ron _had s_aid he'd been acting oddly last week and, well, he had been unusually quiet and his emotions contained a lot more angst than usual. "Is his scar hurting? Has he collapsed somewhere? Did he have another vision from You-Know-Who? Merlin's pants, tell me what's going on Ron!"

"Harry's fine and- Hermione, did you just say "Merlin's pants"?" Ron asked amusedly, a grin on his face. Hermione set her books down, picked the heaviest one off the top of the pile, and smacked him in the arm with it. "Ow! Bloody hell, what was that for?"

"For being immature. Well, if Harry's fine and if you don't have last minute homework – which I don't believe for a second – then why are you here?" Hermione asked suspiciously. Ron answered by dropping his head and shuffling his feet, a small, embarrassed smirk on his face. "Ronald! For Merlin's sake, I thought I made it quite clear last week that just because the Ravenclaw girls spend a lot of time in the library doesn't mean they're, and I quote, "kinky and up for some sexy making out between the shelves of the restricted section" – it just means that they, like me, actually care about their education!" Hermione cried, making air quotations around the sentence before hitting him with the book again.

"Hermione, quit with the hitting already! I learned that last week when you whacked me round the head with Hogwarts: A History for even suggesting it! And I'm not going to tell you why I'm here because you'll probably find a way to castrate me with your books." Ron swallowed loudly as the look on Hermione's face changed from annoyed to murderous. Damn it, why had he put that idea about castration by book into her head?

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, if you ever want to have children you will tell me exactly why you are here and what you are planning to do right now!" Hermione snarled, stalking threateningly towards him. They reached the end of the aisle they had been arguing in and Hermione peeked around; her eyes immediately fixing onto a head of messy black hair. Ron gulped again.

"Ron! Are you _spying _on him? On your own _best friend_?" Hermione gasped, tugging the tall boy back around the corner so they could argue without disrupting Harry's reading. "After everything I said last week about leaving him alone, you go so far as to coming to the library to spy on him? I am so unbelievably ashamed of you right now! What kind of man would spy on his own best friend, simply because they've been acting slightly strange? You disgust me." She punctuated the last three words with smacks around the head with a book, producing yelps of pain from Ron.

* * *

><p>Harry wondered if Hermione and Ron were aware that he had seen them and that, like everyone else in the library, he could also currently hear them. He sighed and put down the book he hadn't really been reading, attempted to free his mind of those oh-so conflicting thoughts and walked round the corner. Ron and Hermione froze upon seeing him; Hermione raising her book to hit Ron, Ron raising his hands to protect his head from the book.<p>

"Oh, um, hey Harry!" Hermione chirped, lowering the book and beaming at him as if she was doing nothing wrong or at all odd. "I didn't realise you were here, are you getting a head start on that essay for Snape like Ron and I?"

"That explains why you were hitting him over the head with a book," Harry commented dryly. "Hermione, like everyone else in the library, I heard your conversation and, yes, I am perfectly aware that Ron was watching me. You would make a terrible spy, mate."

"What's a spy? I mean, I know you can spy_ on_ people, but is it a job too?"

"It's a muggle thing, never mind. Besides, I told you guys I just wanted some time alone and I'd appreciate if you actually respected that. I'm going down to the Quidditch pitch- Don't follow me." Harry frowned at both of them, his mood suddenly taking a turn for the worse, and then turned on his heel and marched out of the library, nearly knocking Ginny over as she walked in with a large stack of books floating in front of her. Hermione wondered how she hadn't thought to do that.

"What's his problem?" Ginny asked curiously, walking over to the pair of them.

"God knows. Hey Ginny, why don't you go talk to him? You guys get on well, don't you? And he can't exactly accuse you of spying on him… unless you have been?" Ron frowned at his sister who rolled her eyes and gestured to Hermione who happily hit him with the book again. "Ow! Come on!"

"Ron, I'm not going to talk to Harry if he clearly doesn't want to talk, what's wrong with you? I think you've let the Quaffle hit you in the head too many times." Ginny shook her head at him then disappeared into the depths of the library with her books obediently following her. Hermione watched her go then turned to be met with Ron's glare. She scowled right back at him and pulled out her wand so her books rose off the floor.

"What are you glaring at me for? The way I see it, you've no business watching Harry if he doesn't wish to be watched."


	3. Chapter 3

"Draco! Oh, Draco! Oh, don't stop Draco, it feels so good!"

"Merlin, Pansy, are you trying to wake every bloody person in the castle? Hell, there isn't a better way to turn a guy off than by shouting in his ear." Draco snarled and pulled away from Pansy, whose neck he had been kissing. He knew she hadn't been feeling it anyway; he kissed best when not distracted by thoughts of Perfect Potter.

"Draco, is something wrong? Usually you like it when I say your name," she purred, trying to unbutton his shirt for the umpteenth time. He stopped her for the umpteenth time. "What's going on with you? For Merlin's sake, you were the one who stormed into the common room, dragged me away from the lovely conversation I was having with Blaise, and brought me in here! All for you to say, "Sorry, Pansy, I'm thinking about someone else while I snog you and this just isn't working out for me." Well I'm not having it Draco!"

"Oh for crying out loud, shut up!" Draco stood up from his double poster bed, brushing at the hangings in annoyance when they swept into his face. He paced away, towards the fireplace at the end of the room where he stood. Pansy could really only see his silhouette – the fire was the only source of light in the room. He knew she couldn't see him and was thankful, she wouldn't see the firelight dancing around the anger and confusion on his face. It didn't stop her from eyeing him shrewdly, though.

"There is something wrong with you. And I'll figure it out, you have my word!" Pansy declared dramatically whilst buttoning up her shirt, and then she stormed out of the room leaving Draco to stare at the fireplace in anger.

* * *

><p>The next morning Pansy sat heavily beside Draco at breakfast, a slightly deploring look on her face. He ignored her for at least ten minutes before her intense stare became completely unbearable and he turned to confront her.<p>

"Stop staring at me, or I'll permanently stick your eyes to something a lot less pleasant… Like Longbottom's ass." Pansy immediately looked away and Draco smirked as he picked up his goblet for a swig of his morning orange juice. As he put the cup down, he glanced over to the Gryffindor table where Granger and Weasley were having an argument about something, as usual. Harry was sitting beside them, staring morosely at his breakfast.

"Oh. My. God. Don't tell me you have a thing for that filthy little Mudblood," Pansy hissed in an enraged whisper. "How could you do this to me, Draco? Draco? Draco! Look at me when I'm talking to-"

"Pansy, you're not my girlfriend," Draco interrupted her with a bored sigh. "So even if I did like Granger – the thought of which makes me want to throw up, by the way – it wouldn't be any of your business." The two glowered at each other for a few moments before Draco looked away towards the Gryffindor table again, finding Harry almost immediately amongst the Gryffindors clamouring for food like vultures.

"If you don't like Granger, then why do you keep looking at her?" Pansy whined.

"I'm not looking at _her, _you selfish bitch," Draco snapped and immediately regretted it as Pansy began to scan the section of the table he had been glancing at. The other day he had been thinking about how he had befriended Crabbe and Goyle because they were so idiotic they didn't even know how to read. So why on earth did he talk to Pansy? She was actually somewhat intelligent.

"Who then? Weaselette isn't really your type, is she? You always told me you preferred dark hair! Have you been lying to me, Draco? I could turn my hair red…"

"Once again; you aren't my girlfriend and therefore I do not care. And no, definitely not Weasley's annoying little sister." Draco gave a sigh of annoyance and drained his goblet.

"Well for Merlin's sake, who were you looking at then?" Pansy demanded and Draco slammed his goblet down on the table; causing a passing Hufflepuff first year to jump in shock and stare at Draco.

"Run along little firstie," Draco sneered and turned back to Pansy. "I was staring at Potter," he admitted with a casual shrug.

"At _Potter_?" Pansy shrieked excessively loudly. Draco cursed the day he had become… acquaintances with her. He didn't make friends. Now he was regretting the day he had even bothered to introduce himself to her as the entire Slytherin table, and several other nearby students, turned to look at him.

"Yeah, looking for ways to get everyone's favourite scar head is one of my favourite hobbies." Draco's comment was loud and scathing and he internally congratulated himself for his smart thinking. The surrounding Slytherins frowned in disgust at the mention of "everyone's favourite scar head" and went back to their breakfast as Draco and Pansy left the hall, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle.

If Draco had been foolish, he would have glanced back to the Gryffindor table and noticed Harry staring at him with annoyed confusion. But Draco was not foolish, and so did not notice a thing.

* * *

><p>Harry rolled his eyes as his best friends argued over Hermione's house elf hats and stared into his porridge thoughtfully, half listening to Ron and Hermione's bickering, half attempting to tune into the heated conversation Draco and Parkinson were having across the hall. He was absolutely sure his name had just been mentioned…<p>

"At _Potter?_" Pansy suddenly screeched and Harry's head snapped up so he could watch their argument more intently. Hermione and Ron wouldn't notice, they were too wrapped up in their own quarrel. Harry couldn't help but wish he had one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears so he could find out what was making Pansy so upset, which involved him. He tried to read Draco's lips, because Ginny had just arrived at the table with Dean, so everyone got louder, but it wasn't happening and he sighed in annoyance.

Why did he care so much about what Draco Malfoy was saying about him? It had never bothered him before; it only really upset him when he was horrible about his family or friends. But he hadn't even insulted him to his face – he couldn't even be sure if he had been insulted at all – so why did he care so much?


	4. Chapter 4

"Wake up, Draco." A soft voice tickled his ear and Draco groaned, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head. "Oh, come now, Draco. It's Christmas! You used to love Christmas so much; I don't understand why you hate it now." Draco turned back over, slamming the pillow down onto his bed.

"Because, mother, I'm not a child anymore," Draco snapped at her, a glare marring his pale features. His mother flinched away from him, her eyes filling with tears which made Draco sigh in annoyance. He didn't attempt to apologise as she left the room, simply flung the pillow back over his face and tried to go back to sleep.

"Master Draco must wake up!" Iyra, Dobby's replacement, squeaked in his ear. Draco grumbled incoherent words – of the curse variety – into his pillow, cursing the day they had ever hired a house elf that would do whatever his mother wished. Sighing, Draco rolled over and shoved the house elf aside so he could stand up and go and wash himself. His attempt at sleep had been futile anyway; once he was woken up he could never usually get back to sleep; unless it was a very bizarre time in the morning.

About half an hour later Draco stumbled elegantly – Malfoys never did anything that wasn't elegant – down the stairs and into the living room, giving off a large yawn as he did so. He was dressed casually in a set of old dark green robes and he sighed as he saw the look his mother was giving them. The robes were well worn with a large hole near the hem, but they were comfy so Draco just shrugged in her direction and turned his attention to his breakfast – delicious as usual but he would never praise a house elf like that.

"Draco, do you want to open your presents or do you feel you are too old for that now?" Narcissa sniffed haughtily and Draco barely suppressed an eye-roll; wishing his father was there and not at the Ministry bribing Fudge with a bag of gold for information he shouldn't have access to. When he turned to her his face was the perfect mask of innocence and apology.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted this morning. Merry Christmas, mother." He produced a small box containing a pair of extremely expensive earrings and handed it over to her without ceremony, hoping it would placate her for the time being. Immediately a beam lit up her features and she embraced him, kissing his cheeks enthusiastically.

"Oh, Draco, thank you! Your father is sorry he's not here, he says your presents are all the ones under the smaller tree and that he'll be back in time for dinner if all goes well." Narcissa pulled away from her son and started putting the earrings on as Draco padded – elegantly – over to the smaller tree by the fire and carelessly examined the large pile of presents spread out beneath its branches.

It was the usual sort of thing: a new top of the line racing broom, piles of money from various relatives, a gleaming watch, a new set of dress robes, a handsome new quill, sweets, and books, everything Draco was used to. He couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed – it had been far too much to hope that perhaps he would get a present, or at least a card, from Harry. He wasn't sure why he had even bothered hoping in the first place as their relationship was as angry as ever.

"Draco? Draco? Draco? Is everything alright, Draco?" Draco came out of his thoughts with a jump, realising his mother had been calling his name for at least ten minutes while he stared into the fire, lost in his mind. "Draco, you're scaring me."

"Sorry, mother. I was consumed by my thoughts. If you'll excuse me, I'm in need of some fresh air." Draco stood abruptly with his words, kissed his mother's cheek in a distracted manner, and then hurried upstairs to change into a thicker robe. Moments later he was outside the boundaries of his house, wandering through the snow covered forest behind the manor.

Sighing, he magically cleared a bench of snow – the Ministry didn't bother to issue him warnings due to a few well-placed words from his father – and sat down heavily. He pulled a quill out of his pocket – he carried one everywhere – and an ink bottle and a fragment of parchment. After loading up the quill, he stared at the parchment for a long time, the tip of the quill resting on it until he realised he had created nothing but a large ink blot.

He gave a grunt of frustration and threw the offending items onto the bench beside him so he could get up and pace angrily around the clearing he had ended up in. Even if he were to write a letter to Harry, what in the name of Merlin would he write in it? Harry would surely be with the Weasleys, so they'd all know if he sent a letter – unless he did it anonymously. Though Harry would probably be suspicious if he even sent him an innocent Christmas greeting, as they weren't the best of friends.

Draco frowned, and then sat back down and picked up the quill and parchment. He stared at the blob on the paper; what did one write to one's "enemy" in a Christmas letter? Was it even a common practice to write to one's "enemy"? No, it probably wasn't.

_Dear Harry,_

Should he write Harry, or Potter? It probably wouldn't do to open the letter with 'dear' as that was too… nice, too familiar. But he did want to start it relatively nicely…

_Harry,_

There; the perfect opening. Not too formal, not too harsh, not too friendly either. Just right. But how to continue? Should he write a Christmas greeting, or explain why he was actually writing the letter in the first place?

It suddenly hit Draco that he was writing a letter to Harry Potter, a boy he'd been enemies with since the very start, and he threw the quill away from him in disgust. Quickly he pulled out his wand and set fire to the scrap of parchment, watching with satisfaction as the edges curled and blackened and the name of the source of so much confusion disappeared into the flames.

* * *

><p>"Draco, where have you been? I've been so worried! You went outside the property boundaries – what were you thinking? I've been run off my feet looking for you; Merlin knows who could have grabbed you out there! You know our family is known to be associated with the Dark Lord – do you have a death wish? Draco, you're soaking. What were you doing; rolling around in the snow? Go and change into dry robes at once, your father is home and I won't have you presenting yourself to him in such a manner – nor will I have you catching a cold!" Draco rolled his eyes and sighed as his mother fussed and lectured before finally allowing him to go and change his robes so he could enjoy Christmas lunch in "appropriate attire".<p>

"Merry Christmas, father," Draco murmured with a duck of his head as he sat at the table and allowed Iyra to tie a heavily embroidered napkin around his neck. "I trust your business at the Ministry went smoothly?"

"Just as planned," Lucius replied as Iyra served them all soup. "Your mother tells me you went for a walk this morning and wandered a bit farther than is considered sensible? I do hope you won't do it again." Malice practically dripped from Lucius's tongue as he gazed at his son. Draco looked away first with a curt nod.

"Yes, father. Of course not." He wondered what his family would make of it if they knew of the letter he had planned to write…

"Draco?" Draco came out of his daze to see his mother looking at him with concern and his father frowning heavily in his direction. "Draco, I'm worried about you. It isn't like you to be so distracted. Is something wrong?" Draco stood abruptly, dropping his spoon into his soup and causing Iyra to squeak as it spattered her.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling well," he said quietly and left the room, ignoring the look of disapproving astonishment on his father's face, and the concern on his mother's.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco did not have a clue why he was so eager to get to the Great Hall on the first morning of term because, quite clearly, he had no feelings for Potter as he had previously thought. The fact that he had even entertained the thoughts of having feelings of anything but hatred for the boy absolutely disgusted him – Malfoys weren't to think such things, ever.

He had realised, when he was alone in the manor, that he had been deluded into thinking that he could possibly hold emotions of affection for Potter because Pansy was just so horrific and the way she continually draped herself all over him was just sickening. Yes, he had decided that this was entirely Pansy's fault and therefore he would tell her that she was no longer allowed to keep his company. She was far too intellectual anyway – well, compared to Crabbe and Goyle – and would probably have become suspicious if he continued to reject her affections and yet keep her close.

Because, really, he and Potter were far too opposite to ever even hold a friendly conversation – let alone conduct a relationship composed of anything less than hatred. Potter was the do-good, save-the-world, loved-by-most, smart, annoyingly good-looking, Gryffindor, boy-who-defeated-Voldemort-as-a-baby, Quidditch-playing extraordinaire. On the other hand, Draco was the cunning, pureblooded, on-the-dark-side, hated-by-most, extremely intelligent, strikingly attractive, Slytherin, boy-whose-family-help-Voldemort, Quidditch-playing not-so-much-of-an extraordinaire. So maybe they won't such complete opposites, they were simple on completely different sides. Draco was still sure that he wouldn't be able to speak to Potter without insulting him – or choking on a compliment.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but Draco thought of this phrase with contempt – surely he had just proved otherwise? Rather than allowing his… his feelings (which were now non-existent) for Potter to grow, he had managed to completely extinguish them. Draco nodded to himself with satisfaction as he walked up from the dungeons, following the delicious smell exuding from the Great Hall and breakfast.

* * *

><p>"Draco!" Pansy simpered, twitching over to him with a nauseating smile plastered across her pug-like face. "I missed you over the holidays! Did you have a nice Christmas? Mine was simply wonderful, but I must have missed your present! Perhaps it got caught up in the post?" Draco sighed and flicked his fingers, signalling for Crabbe and Goyle to sit beside him, so she couldn't throw herself onto the bench beside him or, even worse, into his lap.<p>

"You never received a present because I never sent one, Parkinson," Draco drawled, lazily reaching for some pancakes and not looking at her as he said it. He saw her gaping at him with confusion from the corner of his eye, presumably because she was trying to decide whether she should be insulted that he hadn't sent her a present, questioning why he hadn't, or perplexed as to why he had addressed her by her surname.

"Draco…?" She trailed off questioningly and he rolled his eyes, putting his goblet down before he even took a sip.

"Don't say another word – you bore me. You see, Parkinson, I've grown tired of the way you throw yourself at me as if your life depends on it. Maybe in the future you'll do something relatively impressive and I'll deign to speak to you once more but, as I've said multiple times in the past, we will never be romantically involved so don't even think about telling people we're "breaking up" you sordid little gossip, as that would be a completely false rumour and people would laugh because everyone except you knows that we were never going out in the first place." Pansy stared at him for a long moment, and then turned on her heel and ran out of the hall with her hands covering her face. Draco watched her go with a sense of cruel satisfaction rising up inside him.

"It's about time you told her what was what," A quiet voice said from across the table and Draco looked up from his waffles with a raised eyebrow. Blaise Zabini was sitting there, regarding him quite calmly across the top of a golden goblet. "Perhaps now I'll actually "deign to speak to you", as you so harshly told Parkinson." Blaise mimicked Draco's position, raising his own eyebrow and smirking slightly.

"Perhaps, Zabini, if you've stopped crushing on the Weasley girl," Draco challenged and the smirk fell from Blaise's face as he leaned forward so as to speak to Draco without anyone overhearing.

"I would say that "crushing" isn't quite the phrase I would use – it's more that I want to fuck her brains out and then leave her crushed and broken," he said quietly and then sneered at Draco. "And the day I stop "crushing" on the Weasley girl will be the day you stop "insulting" Potter." Draco opened his mouth to voice his outrage at Blaise's insinuation but the tall boy just shook his head and smirked. "Speak of the Golden boy and the Golden boy shall appear," he muttered and then melted out of sight like ink.

Potter was standing at the doors of the hall, just scanning the room with a look of wary confusion. Granger and Weasley had already seated themselves at the Gryffindor table without even noticing that Potter hadn't followed them and were already involved in yet another argument. Draco rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to Potter who had taken a tentative step into the hall whilst glaring heavily in Umbridge's direction. And then something happened.

Potter's glowing eyes seemed to drag themselves around, seemingly almost against his own will, to scan the Slytherin table, the table _he _was sitting at. And then green was staring into silver and Draco was thinking that, aside from the fact that their combined eye colour was ironically that of Slytherin, he had been so wrong earlier.

When their eyes connected, it felt like Draco's heart had just suddenly kick started to an overly fast rate and he felt all of his breath whoosh out of him as he and Harry stared at each other. He wished so, so strongly that he could put it down to hatred of the boy but he knew he'd be lying to himself – and Malfoys did not lie to themselves, no matter how much they lied to others.

He knew, deep down, that this hatred of Potter was a complete and utter lie. And he would not lie to himself and keep denying it. But he sure as hell wouldn't put any voice to these thoughts; they could stay hidden for as long as he was alive.


End file.
